


Train in the Distance

by bakedgoldfish



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-08-21
Updated: 2003-08-21
Packaged: 2019-05-15 05:02:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14784042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakedgoldfish/pseuds/bakedgoldfish
Summary: The thought that life could be better is woven indelibly into our hearts and our brains.





	Train in the Distance

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

**Train in the Distance**

**by:** Baked Goldfish

**Character(s)/Category(s):** Donna, some Donna/Cliff, a little Donna/Leo by the end, a little Sam, others show up from time to time.  
**Rating:** TEEN, for some language and some sexual material.  
**Disclaimer:** Not mine. No money being made. Don't sue. Paul Simon provides the title and summary. Don't sue for that either.  
**Summary:** The thought that life could be better is woven indelibly into our hearts and our brains.  
**Spoiler:** Everything from H.Con 172 through Posse Comitatus is specifically covered. Let's say all of season 3 just to be safe, though.  


[H.CON 172] 

She hears herself ask Cliff Calley, Cliff Calley whose boxers were plaid and cotton-soft and hid the diary on her floor until he decided to get dressed, she hears herself ask Cliff Calley when he started looking out for Leo McGarry. Then she stops herself, as Cliff Calley stares back at her with that look in his eyes that tell her he can't tell her anything, and she knows he stopped the committee's inquisition because they have something on Leo McGarry, her boss' boss, and that something has nothing to do with the President, her boss' boss' boss, and his disclosure of having multiple sclerosis. 

He tells her nothing, except to talk to Josh Lyman. Convince Josh to convince Leo to convince the President. They're good men and they need someone to defend them, he's thinking, and she can see those thoughts in his eyes. 

He leaves, and she thinks that Cliff is maybe not as wrong as she'd thought. 

[100,000 Airplanes] 

She walk-sprints to the copier the very next morning, an overfull coffee mug balanced in one hand and a file in the other. The snow of last night has turned to slush, brown with sand and salt and city grime, except in Lafayette Park. There, it is cold, touched by human commotion and no longer pristine, but still vaguely white. She sets the mug on top of the copier and picks and chooses which pages need to be xeroxed. 

Josh walks by her, guarded, confident, and looking only slightly defeated. "Hey," he says, giving her the smile he always gives her in the morning. 

"What's up?" she asks. She deftly moves her mug and puts the first page onto the copier bed; it almost looks like it was done in a single motion. 

Josh stops, which she does not expect, and looks at her with weariness in his eyes. "He's taking the censure." 

If she's stunned, she doesn't seem to realize it yet. "Is he okay?" she asks. 

"The President?" For a moment, his guard drops, and she sees the same fear she'd seen in him last May. Then it goes back up, and he says, "I haven't talked to him yet. Leo says he's pretty much being a trooper." 

She dares ask the question that has settled on her tongue. "Is Leo okay?" 

His guard drops again; she can tell he can see she knows something, but he doesn't ask her how she knows, and she is thankful for that. "I don't know. Don't - don't be angry with him, okay? This is, it's-" 

"I'm not angry," she says quietly. He nods, puts his guard back up, and walks to his office. She watches him walk away, the empty blue folder clutched to her chest, and for a moment, she looks like a housewife clutching her only son's enlistment papers and watching from the front porch as he walks off to war. 

Behind her, the copier whirs and spits out its workload. 

[-----] 

It's a few days later, and Sam is on the phone with the OMB when she stops by his office. He is arguing about the numbers for the child asthma section, and she glances around, wondering where everyone else is. It's only ten-thirty at night, and this time last year the place would have been bustling. She knocks on his doorframe, smiles cheerfully as he puts the phone to his shoulder. He gives her the one-second signal, and puts the phone back to his ear. 

"I'll speak to you later, Jim," he says before slamming the phone down. He takes a moment to collect himself before looking back up at her with an optimistic, completely Sam face. "What can I do for ya?" he asks, smiling. 

"Josh just wanted me to run this over," she says, placing a report on his desk. "The new numbers on child asthma." 

Sam blinks, and reaches for the report. He flips through it, and optimistically mutters, "Guess I won't be speaking to Jim later, huh?" 

She crosses her arms, leans against the doorframe. "How's it going?" 

"Barring any outlandish requests from the President, it should be done sometime in the next millennium," he quips. 

She pulls a sympathetic face, and says, "Not too well, huh?" 

"I just wish-" Sam cuts himself off, rakes a hand through his already mussed hair. "I just wish we had a little more guidance on this. Toby's good - he's brilliant - but-" He sighs, and the muscles in his jaw start working. "Leo's not really telling us much about what we should be doing, lately." 

"Maybe he just wants you guys to do your thing without any interference," she says, but even she can tell that's not the reason. 

Sam shakes his head. "Josh said - I mean, he was on the inside, you know? And he told us, he stood there and told me, CJ, and Toby that if we were on the inside-" He picks up a pen and begins to fiddle with it, focus on it. "He told us we would have advised the President to take the censure, too." 

She should bite her tongue, but her thoughts slip out anyway. "They had something on Leo." 

"Yeah," Sam says, and she thinks he probably thinks she'd figured it out on her own. "But I don't know what. I don't - I don't want to know, but I just wish. I don't know what I wish. I don't know." He takes a deep breath and drops the pen, a sheath of optimism and perkiness starting to cover his form. "It doesn't matter. The report all you had for me?" 

"Yeah," she says, smiling and leaving. "I'm gonna go now." 

"Have fun storming the castle," he calls after her, and she laughs quietly. She makes it back to her desk without major incident, sits down, and gets back to work. But within moments, a tiny thought worms its way into her head, and she leans back, her hand on the mouse. It's not her place. It's not her place to wonder about these things. She never even sees him, unless he's yelling at Josh, but she can't help but wonder what's eating at him. 

Josh comes by a few minutes later, a dazed frown on his face. He stops by her desk, looks down at her, and mumbles, "The President wants to cure cancer. What the freaking fuck." 

It's bizarre enough to snap her out of her thoughts. "Like, right now? Because, I think there might be a few things ahead of that on his schedule." Her flippancy is muted by the fact that she still remembers a time when Josh would be smiling about the President wanting to cure cancer. 

She checks her phone messages after Josh goes into his office. The third one is Cliff: "I'm sorry. Call me?" 

She hesitates, then reaches for her cell phone. 

[-----] 

"I'm sorry," he says again over coffee the next night. She hadn't had a free moment since she got his message, but now, at ten, she's off for the night. "I know that doesn't mean much, but..." 

He seems honestly guilty, and she crumbles. "I know," she says sympathetically. 

"I just, you know." He hesitates, stirs his coffee a bit. She sees him holding back what he knows. "I can't - I can't tell you exactly what happened, but there's a reason I didn't want to see him in front of the committee again," he says, and she knows which "him" he means. "There're some guys who'd go after him for things that don't have anything to do with anything." 

"You mean there are actually vindictive Republicans?" she quips. She puts her hands on his when he flinches. "Sorry." 

"It's okay," he says with a tiny smile. "I mean, there're vindictive Republicans, just like there are lazy Democrats." 

She smacks his knuckles playfully; later that night, she's on her back and he's pushing into her, apologizing some more, and she accepts. 

[-----] 

The morning after, she hears Josh screaming for her, and she yells back. "What?" 

"I need-" He stops yelling, steps out of his office. "I need you to go help out in Leo's office. Margaret said something about the... fillets?" 

She scowls at him. "Filing?" 

"Yeah, filing," he says; she's already away from her desk and striding down the hall. Margaret's not at her desk, so she knocks on Leo's door, quietly, as if she's afraid of what might happen if she knocks too loud. 

"Come in," he says from the other side of the door. He sounds tired, and as she walks into his office, she sees that he looks as tired as he sounds. "Donna," he says, glancing up. The way he says her name, it's like a prayer. 

"Josh sent me over," she says, knowing full well that he already knew that. The piles of work he has on his desk distract her; Josh's desk is never this full. "He said you needed some help." 

"I've got Margaret at the OEOB, and her staff's scattered to the wind," he sighs, reaching for a particularly ominous looking pile. "She left instructions." 

She takes the pile and glances at the post-it on the top folder before setting it all down on Margaret's desk. "Anything else?" 

"Coffee." She hears the expectation in his voice, but also that undercurrent of respect that Josh seems to forget most of the time, and she bites back the remark that she usually gives to Josh whenever he asks for coffee. 

Instead, she asks, "How do you take it?" 

"Black," he says; he looks up at her for a moment, and she swears there's surprised amusement in his eyes even though his face is completely blank. 

She takes his mug and refills it without another word, and when she comes back from the kitchenette, he's on the phone with someone. She sets it down on his desk and waits for any further instruction. 

"Thanks, Donna," he says, waving her away. When she gets to Margaret's desk, she overhears a bit of his conversation; he says, distractedly, "Coffee, Josh." She doesn't mean to eavesdrop, but the door is open and Leo's not the quietest man around, and she hears the conversation continue: "You ever stop to think that maybe she doesn't get you coffee 'cause you're a big jerk sometimes?" 

She stifles a laugh and rereads the instructions Margaret's left for her. 

[-----] 

She meets Cliff for dinner at an all-night diner she knows. It could be called breakfast, for the hour they're meeting, and she tries one last time to straighten her hair before sliding into the booth where Cliff is already sitting. 

"You look like death warmed over," he says with a sheepish smile. He's dressed casually, as if he works for Abercrombie and not Congress. She's still in her work clothes. 

"I don't have much time," she says, apologetically. "I have to get back in," and she checks her watch here, "in forty-two minutes." 

Cliff waives a waitress over. "Josh working you that hard?" 

"I got transferred to Leo for a couple weeks," she says, looking at the menu. 

They place their orders, and he says, "How's he doing?" 

A part of her kind of hates Cliff for knowing why Josh wanted Leo to talk to the President about taking the censure. A part of her wants to tell Cliff that Leo's not doing okay, and it's because of whatever Cliff and his cohorts had on him. 

"He's fine," she says, with as confident a smile as she can muster. 

He smirks at her in a certain way, as if he's silently apologizing for knowing more about her boss than she does and for being on the side that hurt the White House. "Is he as horrid a guy to work with as people say?" he asks. 

"No," she says quickly, with a smile and a downward tilt of her head. "No, he's... he's really not that bad, once you get used to the yelling." 

"'Once you get used to the yelling'?" Their food arrives - a salad for her, and a hamburger with fries for him. She remembers why she still likes him, and remembers why she doesn't really hate him for anything. 

"Oh, like you've never worked with someone who yells?" she jokes. 

"No, Republicans don't yell, we smoke cigars and think of ways to screw the poor," he says around a mouthful of hamburger. "You know, he yelled at me in a meeting, and I nearly peed my pants." 

"What meeting?" 

"With his... lawyer," he stutters lamely. He swabs some ketchup with a french fry and doesn't look at her face. 

He feels guilty, so she says in a sotto voice, "I bet you really did pee your pants." He nearly chokes on a fry, and she goes on, "Come on. Be a man. It's okay to admit it." 

"Donna," he half-whines, glancing around to see if anyone's heard. "Don't say that out loud!" 

"Was it a tiny trickle?" she says innocently. "A few drops here and there? Or maybe-" 

He shoves a fry in her mouth to silence her. Nonplussed, she chews it, says, "Thanks," and grabs two more. "Did you have to change just your trousers, or your whole suit?" 

"Donna," he says again, blushing, but smiling to let her know she's not really doing anything wrong. 

"Cliff," she says, mocking his tone of voice before stealing a couple more of his fries. "You know, I'm going to have to tell him all about this." 

He turns a deeper shade of red, and she almost feels guilty. "You wouldn't," he sputters. "I - I didn't-" 

"I'm not gonna," she laughs, putting her hands reassuringly over his. "As long as you pay for my salad." 

"I'll pay for your salad," he says quickly. "I'll, I'll pay for your first-born child to go to college. Just don't - he'd, like, kick my ass or something." 

"He really wouldn't," she says with a smile, and then their dinner conversation turns to less bizarre topics. 

She leaves in time to catch a cab back to the White House - it's still rather cold out, and on the walk from the cab to the White House gates she develops a slight shiver. 

"Just in time," she hears Leo muttering as she puts her coat up. "Donna-" She walks into his office, still a little cold but warming up quickly enough. 

"Take these, distribute them among - hell, it's written there," he says. 

She takes the pack of memos from him. "'Kay." 

"How was dinner?" he asks before she has a chance to leave. He's writing something, his glasses settling on the tip of his nose, and he's not looking at her at all. 

"It was good," she says. "I think Cliff's scared of you." 

He looks up at her. "I didn't know you were still dating Cliff," he says, pulling off his glasses and leaning back. 

"I-" She flutters her hand in front of her dismissively, and smiles and ducks her head slightly. "We weren't, but after the hearings were over-" She stops, and kind of shrugs. 

"I woulda thought Josh would've scared him off by now." 

"I don't really pay much attention to what Josh thinks about who I date," she says boldly. She stares at him for a moment, mentally chiding herself for having too harsh a voice just then. 

He stares back, and then blinks, impressed. "Good girl," he says, and it's not demeaning in any way. He's praising her, she realizes, in his own way. 

"I like to think so," she says with a tiny smile before disappearing to distribute the memos. 

[-----] 

They didn't cure cancer with the State of the Union address, but the dials are higher than they thought they would get. Sam's smile is drained, like he had been the last holdout of what the staff used to be before Mrs. Landingham died and now he's realizing he is just like the rest of them. 

She is beaming, grinning so hard her face hurts, and she wonders why it seems like she's the only one in the room who's happy they got a chance to keep a good guy in office as opposed to happy they got a good chance to keep a guy in office. She'd heard rumors of Leo's pep talks where he'd told the staff to work like they only had one term, and she wonders what changed that philosophy. 

She sees him, amidst the paper cups full of champagne, and his smile is weak like Sam's. She weaves through the crowd, wondering if he'll even remember her name as she nears him. "Mr. McGarry," she says, all smiles with her arms outstretched. 

He walks into her hug - quick, platonic, and solid. "Donna," he says as he steps back, his hands on her elbows. He's still smiling, and it's still weak, but he's trying to make it stronger. 

"We did good tonight, didn't we?" She doesn't know why she's trying to cheer him up. He does have Margaret, after all. And his attorney, but she hasn't been around for a while. 

"We did great," he says, and his smile finally hits genuine. She doesn't think it matters to him who he's telling that to, and she decides not to make any comments on curing cancer. 

She is thoughtlessly giddy, though, and says, "It couldn't have gone better." She almost immediately regrets it when he drops his hands and steps back. 

"Yeah," he says, agreeing, but his smile falls from his eyes. 

[The Two Bartlets] 

CJ is rambling about the butter cow and butter Jesus. "You know, all they need is, like, a butter Buddha. And maybe a butter Muhammad." 

She stands in the doorway, a little awkwardly; the news has already traveled through the senior assistant pool that Toby had made some transgression against the President, and that he was lucky to still be working there. She wonders if CJ knows, and if that's why she's rambling about butter religious figures. "Josh just wanted me to drop these off," she says. "Carol wasn't in." 

"I sent her home," CJ says, taking the pile of folders and dumping them on her desk. "Josh is sure these couldn't have waited til morning?" 

She shrugs apologetically. "It's Josh. He doesn't really think about these things." 

"True," CJ concedes as Sam walks in. "Spanky, what brings you here?" 

"Hey," he says. He sees Donna, smiles at her. "Hey." He turns back to CJ. "Leo wants to see us. Carol wasn't here, so I-" 

"I sent her home," CJ says, distracted. Donna can tell by the look on her face that she'd only heard that last bit about Carol. 

Sam notices, too, and says, "Yeah, but Leo still needs to see us." 

CJ glances up. "And you needed Carol to tell me that?" 

"No, I-" He's confused, and Donna bites the inside of her mouth to stop the oncoming smile. "Leo needs to see us." He blinks, and she almost tastes blood. 

She leaves when they do, but she heads down to the mess instead of to Leo's office. Margaret is there, grabbing a scone. "Are there any more of those?" 

"No. Yes." Margaret peers through the sneeze guard just to be sure. "Yes." 

She grabs a scone, the last one it seems, and goes to a corner booth. "So what's up?" 

"Eh." Margaret picks at her scone. "Got an interesting phone call this morning. Josh. And apparently Leo was dancing in a feather boa at some point." 

She nearly chokes at the image. "Josh and Leo-" 

"Kidding," Margaret says quickly. "Josh was... it was the phone call. He thought Leo was Amy." 

She stares at Margaret before staring at her scone, not quite sure how one could mistake those two. "I have jury duty tomorrow." 

"Don't you have a date with Cliff tomorrow?" 

"Well, not anymore, I guess," she says, annoyed. She's had jury duty once before, a burglary trial, but that was Wisconsin. This is DC, and for all she knows it could be a murder trial or worse. 

"You know what Leo says? 'Jury duty reinforces the pillars of democracy,'" Margaret mocks; her eyes go wide and she pulls a goofy face to go along with the bad vocal impersonation she does of his voice, and she's holding a forkful of the scone like it's a pen. "I've gotten jury duty twice since working for him, and both times he's glared me into not using a deferment." 

She sees Leo come down to the mess before Margaret does. "Are you complaining about jury duty again?" he asks, grabbing an apple and polishing it against his suit jacket before taking a bite. "Jury duty reinforces the pillars of democracy, you know. You should go." 

"I don't have jury duty," Margaret says quickly. "Donna does." 

She feels his glare focus on her, and she freezes. "I'm going," she says before he can glare at her for too long. 

His glare softens. She's sure he's used to lecturing people why it's good to go to jury duty. "Well," he says. "Good." He licks a bit of juice off his thumb as he turns back to the stairs. He stops suddenly and looks at her. "Oh, and Josh left a message for you. Something about thanking you for calling Amy?" 

It's her turn to glare, though she doesn't mean to. Her eyes catch Leo's, sees his surprise at her suddenly dark countenance. She decides to continue glaring, since it's kind of fun. He's not used to people glaring at him, and she knows it. 

"Don't kill the messenger," he says, holding his hands up as if in defense before shuffling into the stairwell and out of her sight. 

Margaret starts chuckling. "That was beautiful. He didn't even tell me to hurry up and go back to work." 

"It works on all of them," she says. "They're just not used to confrontation from the lower decks." 

"Yeah," Margaret says, finishing off her scone. "But he's used to confrontations from everyone, subordinate and higher-ranks the same. I think you've just got the magic glare or something." 

She watches the stairwell distractedly. "Maybe," she says. 

[-----] 

"I told them I was a Democrat." 

Cliff stares across the table from her. "That's how you got out of jury duty?" 

She nods, and cuts a piece of her pie. "They asked if I was a registered voter, I said yes, they said what party, I said Democrat. It was like the first thing they asked this morning." 

"You got out of jury duty on account of you being a Democrat," he says incredulously. "I keep telling people you liberals are destroying the pillars of democracy, but nobody ever believes me. And by the way, I don't even know if asking you for your party allegiance is even legal." 

"That's because you're - what did you just call jury duty?" she asks. 

"I didn't call it anything," he says, confused. 

"I thought-" She shakes her head, chuckles self-depreciatingly. "It's just, you said something about the pillars of democracy, and Leo says jury duty reinforces the pillars of democracy, and it was just weird for a second." 

He smiles at her bemusedly. "I guess I'm more like him than I thought. Just don't dump me for him, okay?" 

She swallows some pie the wrong way, and reaches for her coffee. "Oh, god," she laughs, still choking a little. "Warn a girl, Cliff." 

[Night Five] 

She finishes up the last, thick dregs of oversweet coffee, and considers propping her eyelids open with toothpicks. It's past midnight now, and Josh is still here, with no sign of leaving anytime soon. 

She's seen a woman cry for her dead husband tonight. She needs more coffee. 

Her phone rings, and she stares at it for a moment, debating whether to answer or get up and get some more coffee. She rolls her eyes and picks up the receiver. "Donna Moss." 

"Donna," Cliff says. "I thought you'd be at home by now." 

"I'm not gonna be home til sometime Tuesday," she says. "What's up?" 

"Nothing, I just wanted to leave a message for you for the morning," he says. "I wanted to know if you'd be free for dinner tomorrow night." 

She opens her schedule at the same time that Josh screams for her. "Probably not," she sighs, even before she gets to the right page. "I have to go." 

"How about Tuesday?" he asks quickly. "I haven't seen you in days. My friends are starting to think you're a myth now." 

"Wednesday," she says with a smile. "I promise. Well, kinda." 

He laughs over the phone, a tinny, distant sound. "Okay. I'll let you go now." 

She gets up and goes to Josh. He's looking down at his calendar and has his phone in the crook of his neck as he hands her a folder. "Get someone to take this to Leo's office," he says. 

She turns around and stares at the deserted bullpen. "You're not afraid I'm gonna quit?" 

He glances up at her as if she's sprouted broccoli from her ears. "Why would I be afraid you were gonna leave?" 

She takes up a mockingly pretentious pose. "A handsome, younger wealthier employer was courting me, and you're not afraid I'm gonna leave you for him?" 

"No, because while he's handsome, young, and rich, I'm handsome, young, and will give you a better letter of recommendation," he jokes. 

She rolls her eyes, shuffles the papers to neatness, and leaves his office for Leo's. "Hey," she says to Margaret. "Josh sent these over." 

"He's in a meeting, leave 'em here," Margaret says, reaching for the folder. 

She yawns. "'Kay. I need some coffee." 

"Get some at the mess," Margaret huffs. "Whoever brewed the last pot in the kitchenette made decaf." 

She pulls a face and says, "Thanks for the heads-up. Hey, did I see Stanley Keyworth here earlier?" 

"Yeah, I don't know where he went, though," Margaret says. She says it too quickly. 

Donna knows better than to question Margaret about it. "Anyway. I'm going to the mess, want anything?" 

"I'm fine." Margaret's typing something, had been typing ever since Donna had walked in, and Donna takes her distractedness at face value. "You got a job offer today?" 

She's about to leave, but she turns back to Margaret, surprised. "How'd you know?" 

"Jeez, Donna, how do you think Leo knows everything that goes on in here?" Margaret is still typing, but she cracks a half-smile. 

She rolls her eyes. "I'm not even gonna ask how you found out." 

"Josh." Margaret glances up for a second. "Well, he told Ed, anyway, and you know how gossipy Ed gets." 

"Margaret, why are you still here?" Leo says. He's just walked into the office, and he's paying more attention to the memos in his hand than anything else. 

"Well, someone's gotta give you this folder Donna's left for you," Margaret mutters, handing him the file. 

He glances up at Donna. "Couldn't Donna do that herself?" 

"Well, where would the fun be in that?" Donna says. She smiles when they smile, and wonders if she and Josh will ever run this smoothly. 

"Hey, you're not leaving us, right?" Leo asks suddenly, peering over his glasses at her. 

"I'm not," she says. 

"Good, 'cause I need someone to handle Josh," he mumbles. "Come inside for a second?" 

"Sure." He motions for her to shut the door, so she does that before coming to stand in front of him. "What's up?" 

"I wanted to say you did good tonight," he says. He looks like he's telling her he'd like a ham sandwich. "I wanted to say you did good with Mrs. Price." 

She feels sweat on her palms, cold, and her eyebrows pull together. "I - I didn't do anything," she says. "I brought her coffee, I-" 

"You were there," he says with a shrug. He is still matter-of-fact. "You cared. You assured her that we were doing all we could." 

The question should have remained unvoiced, but, uncertainly, she asks, "Did we do all we could?" 

His shoulders drop almost imperceptibly. "Unfortunately." 

[Hartsfield's Landing] 

She stares at Josh like he's crazy. "But it's so warm." 

He rolls his eyes at her, and reaches for his coat. "Donna, you're inside now, gimme the coat." 

"You made me stand in Lafayette Park and talk to the Flenders for two hours in the freezing cold, and after all that you take the phone and all my work is for naught," she snaps. She glares at him, and in her mind she's transferring some of her cold to him. 

"Donna, I didn't have a - and it was only for one and a half hours, I-" He laughs helplessly before pulling his lost-puppy face. "Can I have my coat back?" 

"Only if you promise to go stand outside for two hours in it," she says. She sees Leo over Josh's shoulder; he's walking towards them. "I bet Margaret never had to do stuff like this." 

"I bet Leo's had Margaret try to turn off the Dupont Circle fountain just for kicks," he retorts. "Donna-" 

"I've done no such thing," Leo grumbles, coming up behind Josh. Josh flinches, and she tries very hard to not smirk. Leo stares at her. "What's wrong with you?" 

"I'm cold," she says. 

"Obviously," he says, grabbing the remote control for Josh's television. "Why?" 

"He had me standing in Lafayette Park calling the Flanders to try and change their votes." 

He looks surprised, and asks, "They're not voting for us?" 

She glares at Josh some more, and tightens his coat around her body. "I almost had them - and then he screwed it all up." 

Leo glares at Josh and says, "Tell me you didn't-" 

"They - I - look, just be happy I found out, okay?" He gives that same helpless laugh, and looks at the two of them. 

Leo stops glaring at Josh, and looks at Donna. "Why were you in Lafayette Park?" 

"Josh told me to go there." 

He shakes his head, befuddled. "Why didn't you go to a cafe or something? Or maybe your car?" 

"I-" She hadn't thought of that. She blames Josh anyway. "He told me Lafayette Park." 

Josh stares at her like a fish out of water. "I-" 

"Shut up," Leo says, raising the volume. Donna watches as each vote is counted by hand, the names on the ballots being read aloud. Bartlet is called twenty-two times. A slim margin, but a margin nonetheless. 

Leo's the first one to speak. "You think the Flenders voted for him?" 

She watches the two of them; Josh, with his hands on his hips and a look of apprehension on his face, as if CNN is about to report that one of the votes was misread, and Leo, looking like a kid on Christmas Eve \- anticipatory, hopeful. 

She nods, even though neither of them is looking at her. 

[-----] 

She tries to get up, but Cliff pulls her back. "I have to go to work," she says with a yawn. 

His eyes are still closed, and he hides his face in her hair. "You crawled in here at one in the morning and froze me awake," he murmurs. "Warm me up a bit before you go." 

She stares at him, and he opens his eyes and smiles up at her. "Sure," she says with her own smile, before reaching down and giving him a purple nurple. He yelps, and rolls away from her, cradling his sore nipple. 

"I have to go," she says, pulling on a robe and shuffling into the bathroom. 

"I think I'm bleeding," he says. 

"Stop being a wuss," she yells, her mouth frothy with toothpaste. "Like nobody's ever done that to you before." 

"Well, not without, like, sex involved," Cliff says, halfway smiling. 

She pokes her head out of the bathroom. "Look at my face." 

He crawls back beneath the covers, his arm defensively over his chest. "I'm going back to sleep now." 

Her mouth is clean now, so she walks over to him and kisses him on the cheek before going back to getting ready. 

[Dead Irish Writers] 

She peeks into Margaret's office. "I didn't see you at the party," she says. 

Margaret looks up for a second before going back to work. "I had to finish some things up here," she says. She looks up again. "That's a nice dress." 

She smiles. "Thanks. Yours is nicer, though. It's a shame you were stuck up here all night." 

Margaret chuckles, and Donna can hear the undercurrent of sadness. "As opposed to being in the same room as John Marbury for any length of time? I like him, but not that much." 

"He left early," Donna says, shrugging. She's not sure why she said it, and that shows on her face. "And the First Lady would've pulled you out to go get drunk with her anyway." 

Margaret looks up at her, a confused look on her face. "Trying to cheer me up, are you?" 

She shrugs. "Josh brought me olives to try and cheer me up." 

"Olives?" 

"Back when I was-" She shakes her head and cuts off her rambling. "Never mind." 

"When you were Canadian?" Margaret smiles. "Leo told me." 

"Leo knew?" The back of her mouth suddenly tastes metallic and thick, and she's not sure why. She watches Margaret put a file away and asks, "How'd he know?" 

"The Secret Service told him," Margaret says. "I guess they had to tell him in case we had a mole in our midst." 

"A Canadian mole?" She's about to laugh and say more, when Leo walks in. "Hey," she says to him. 

"You still Canadian?" he deadpans as he picks up his phone messages. She ducks her head and smiles as if she's back in the eighth grade as he turns his attention away from her. "Margaret, I'm meeting with CJ in a few minutes, when she gets here just send her right in." 

"You've got Nancy tomorrow at seven-fifteen. She called a few minutes ago," Margaret says; Donna doesn't know why she's still standing there, watching the exchange, but she's taken by surprise when Leo, the man who knows all and sees all, looks confused by Margaret's statement. 

"About what?" he says, pulling off his tie. 

"There've been some developments in Qumar," Margaret says. 

Donna watches the weight settle on Leo's shoulders. She watches the celebration of Abbey Bartlet's birthday fall from his countenance, to be replaced by that weariness he always exhibits these days. "She's sure it can wait until morning, though?" he asks. He shakes his head before she can answer. "Forget it. Call Nancy back, get me Josh, and tell CJ to come by a half an hour later." 

"I can go get Josh, he's still at the party," Donna says. 

He turns to her as if he'd forgotten she was in the room. He's struggling to put a look of gratitude on his face for her, and in the millisecond before he says, "Thanks," she knows that he spent most of his time either in his office or working with the politicians who were at the party. The tux is nothing more than a prop, a variation on the suit he wears to work on any other day. She wonders when's the last time he went to a party without having to work. 

But he says, "Thanks," and she nods, ever helpful, before walking off in search of her boss. 

[-----] 

Sam is leaning back in his chair when she passes by. She's already sent Josh Leo's way, and is about to get back to the party, but Sam is leaning back in his chair with both hands on his eyes and his chin pointed up to the ceiling. He looks tired, again. 

"You okay?" she says. 

"I might've convinced Congress to fund something based solely on that something being good for knowing stuff," he says. There seems to be resignation in his voice, but she thinks she must be imagining it. 

"That's... good, right?" she asks. 

"It's great," he says. He is listless. "It's what we used to do in this administration." 

"We still do it," she says. 

"Yeah," he says, unconvinced. He finally looks at her. "That's a nice dress." 

She smiles briefly. "You look good in a tux." 

"I know." 

"Oh." She stands there for a minute, and Sam doesn't seem like Sam in this light. "Are you sure you're okay?" 

"Just a little tired," he says with a weary smile. 

She smiles back, leaves, and doesn't quite believe him. 

[The US Poet Laureate] 

"So far up your ass!" she hears CJ scream. She stifles a laugh a few moments later when Josh calls for her. 

The President is giving his address, and she wonders how many people in this room care more about the President's labeling of Rob Ritchie as stupid. She sees Sam, on the other side of the cameras in the back; his arms are across his chest, and his face is pensive. He's standing alone. She weaves through the crowd to him. 

"It's good," she says in a sotto voice, leaning towards him as she comes up behind him. 

"Hmm?" He looks at her, blandly distracted. 

"The statement," she says. "It's good." 

He shrugs. Almost as an afterthought, he nods and says, "Yeah." He smiles at her. "You know we just finished it this morning?" 

"It seems so polished," she says, smiling back at him. 

"I love that about this job," Sam says, turning his smile back to the President. "You're not done until he's in a crowded room." 

"And even then," she adds. 

He chuckles. "Yeah." He stretches his lean frame, hands clasped behind him and by his waist, and he holds his breath for a moment. "I love that." 

She thinks he might sound wistful. 

[-----] 

When she gets to the diner, Cliff is already in their regular booth with a slice of cake in front of him. He hasn't quite gotten around to eating it yet, so when she slides in opposite him, she asks, "Watching your weight?" 

"Something," he says with an empty laugh. "I didn't get you anything yet, I didn't know what you wanted." 

"That's okay," she says, waving a waitress over and ordering a slice from the same cake. "You okay?" she asks him. 

"I'm fine," he says. He smiles at her, but it's the same empty smile Sam's been giving lately. 

[Stirred] 

Josh comes back from Leo's office, and she sees spark in him. "You're off for the night," he says. 

"I'm-" She goes home when he goes home. It's the mantra that Margaret has passed on to all the senior assistants. "You're still here," she says. 

"Yeah, but I'm gonna be having meetings for a while," he says. "Didn't you wanna get off at around midnight anyway?" 

She gives a tiny shrug. "I had a thing with Cliff, but-" 

"You're not overworking your assistant, are you Josh?" Leo says as he enters the outer office. 

"I swear I'm not," Josh says; there's a slight whine to his voice. 

Leo turns to look at her, his gaze piercing but mischievous, and it reminds her of their first year in the White House. "Is he?" 

"He is," she says, playfully woe-begotten. "Save me, Leo." 

"I was telling her to go home," Josh says. There's even more of a whine to his voice now. 

"I don't believe you," Leo says, even though she can tell he must have overheard Josh telling her to go home. 

Josh stares at the two of them with his mouth slightly open. "You know, I really wish sometimes that the two of you never, like, met." 

"That day has come and passed," Leo mutters. "I'll see you tomorrow, Donna." 

"Yeah," she says, and it still reminds her of their first year. 

[-----] 

It's a rerun of the last time she met Cliff in their regular cafe, a rerun of the night after CJ tore Josh a new one for posting on his fansite, except Cliff seems even more agitated, and she is even more excited. She sits down in the same place, and orders the same thing, and asks the same question. 

"I'm fine," he says. He has a similarly untouched slice of cake in front of him. 

Her cake arrives, and she takes a small bite. "You know, you really should try this." 

He reaches over to her plate and forks a large chunk of her cake. At her surprised expression, he says, "That was for my nipple." 

She rolls her eyes and takes an even larger chunk of his cake. "You just like that word, don't you?" 

"Well, you just like the... body part." 

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asks suddenly. "I mean, you seemed a little out of it when I came in." 

He shakes his head dismissively, his neck bent and brows furrowed. "No, I'm - you know, I'm fine." He eats some of his cake. "This really is good." 

"I know," she says with an almost guilty smile. "I probably shouldn't be eating this, but-" 

"You know, wait," he says quietly, dropping his fork to his plate. "I'm not that fine. That open mike-" He stops talking and stares at her. "I mean, I'm not part of Ritchie's campaign, but he's a good man." 

"Okay," she says slowly. "You do realize that the open mike thing was a mistake, and even if it wasn't, I had absolutely nothing to do with-" 

"Yeah, but he didn't even apologize for it," Cliff says. "He calls the man stupid on television, to a reporter, and he doesn't even - it was a non-apology statement you guys issued, he didn't even-" 

"He had nothing to apologize for," she snaps. "Yeah, Rob Ritchie might be-" She lowers her voice and leans a little over the table. "He may be a good man, but he's kinda stupid. And worse, he makes being stupid look like a good thing. You guys could've nominated anyone, you could've nominated Peter Bruno or, or anyone, but you nominated the village idiot. Is that really who you want in the office of the President?" 

"Better an idiot than a liar," he hisses. Immediately, he falls back in his seat, the fire in his eyes morphing into contrition as he looks away. "Fuck." 

She controls herself. To her credit, nothing but her eyes show her anger as she pulls open her purse and slaps a few dollars onto the table to pay for her cake. "Give me your key to my place," she says. 

"Donna, I didn't mean-" 

"Give me your key," she says. "I'll messenger all your stuff to your place tomorrow." 

She leaves the cafe and doesn't look back until she's rounded the corner to her car. 

[Enemies, Foreign & Domestic] 

It's unsettling that CJ has a stalker. It's unsettling, she thinks, as she deletes more of Cliff's e-mails. He'd left a message on her machine at her apartment, and her roommate thought it was weird the way he seemed so sorry that he'd offended her but still didn't seem to apologize. "He's a politician," she'd said by way of excuse. 

It's unsettling, but she's done what she had to do. She told Josh, who told Leo, who told Ron Butterfield, who told the President, who somehow convinced CJ into getting an agent assigned to her. 

"Donna!" Josh yells, and she gets up and takes some folders from him. "Sam," he mumbles to her; he's on the phone, distracted, but he takes the time to wave her off. 

"Josh sent these," she says when she gets to Sam's office. 

"Thanks," he says cheerfully, taking the folders from her. "What's new?" 

She's a little thrown by the question, so she says, "Uh, not much, I guess. You?" 

He shrugs and smiles. "You ready for Finland?" 

"I'm not going," she says. Privately, she's thankful, but on the outside, she tries to look sad about it. 

Sam doesn't pretend anything. "Lucky," he snorts good-naturedly. "They eat moose there, you know." 

"Well, there are some places here where squirrel is a delicacy," she says. "That's gotta mean something, right?" 

"It's a match made in heaven," he muses. "Anyway." 

"Yeah," she says. "I should get back before Josh goes crazy or something." 

"Bye," he says. She smiles and leaves. 

It's unsettling, she thinks, that Sam looks so perfectly sanguine, since she can't really remember a time that he'd been this way. 

[The Black Vera Wang] 

She can hear Leo screaming at Sam. The bullpen is nearly empty now, so it's not too much of a public humiliation, but she can hear it, so that means so can the few interns here and there. It's enough to get the rumor mill started up for the morning. "It's amateur," Leo yells, and she can't understand Sam's reply, but she can hear the anger there. 

She hears the door slam, and the parting words come out of Leo's mouth: "You wanna be friends with a Republican right now? Go be friends with Ainsley. Maybe she can teach you to keep your head in the goddamn game." 

Meanwhile, she reads Cliff's words of remorse in another e-mail from him. She deletes the message. 

[-----] 

The next time she sees Leo, they're both in the mess, and he's ahead of her in the buffet line, angrily shoveling potato salad into a Styrofoam container. It's been a while since she's seen him this livid. 

She is cautious when she reaches him, and she reaches him quickly because there's nobody else there; hesitantly, she reaches for a peach, hoping to not catch his eye. 

He sees her hand, by the peaches near the potato salad, and quickly turns his head to look at her. She can't help but shrink back at his intense glare. His jaw is set like it's been wired shut, his eyes burning, and the crevices of his face seem even deeper than normal. 

"Peach?" she asks weakly, feebly handing her fruit to him. 

It takes him a moment, but he gets his emotions in check before shaking his head and returning to the potatoes. "You heard what I told Sam, didn't you." 

"I-" 

"I was angry at him, Donna, not you," he interrupts as he closes his Styrofoam box. "I might've said some things I shouldn't have, and you know not to tell Cliff-" 

"I'm not seeing Cliff anymore," she says. She rambles, even though she knows Leo won't care. "I stopped seeing him a while ago, well, not so much a while as a few days, and I sent him all his stuff from my apartment, and I haven't talked to him since - I mean, when your boyfriend calls the President a liar, you know it's time to move on." She tries to laugh, shakes her head a little bit, and her hand flutters in front of her. 

He stares at her, more than a little dumbfounded. "He said what?" 

"He - I'm sorry." She closes her eyes and shakes her head again, as if clearing her mind. "You probably didn't even care, did you?" 

He frowns at her and shakes his head. The anger that was in him before has completely left, to be replaced with sympathy. "No, I-" 

She smiles sadly and passes by him with her peach, up the stairs and back to her desk before, she figures, he even thinks to move. 

[-----] 

"I'm sorry." 

It's the words Cliff had been writing to her for quite some time until she finally got it in her head to block his e-mails a moment ago, but someone else was saying those words this time. She looks up and serenely asks, "For what?" 

Leo shrugs in a sublime way, his shoulders barely rising as he says, "I felt like maybe I offended you a little downstairs." 

She smiles. "You really didn't." 

"You sure?" 

"Trust me," she says. "If I were offended, I'd have let you know." 

"Okay." He absently clenches and unclenches his fist, and he's staring off to the side as he forms his next words. He looks at her again and says, "I'm sorry about you and Cliff. I'm sorry that didn't work out." 

Her smile's a little weaker, and yet a little more heartfelt, than before. "Thanks. I just wish he would realize we're through." 

"He's not-" 

"He's not doing anything... weird, or stalkerish or anything." Her smile becomes stronger as his pose becomes more righteous. "He just keeps apologizing, is all." 

"You sure?" he asks; she almost laughs at the mother-hen attitude he seems to have taken on. 

"I'm sure." She tilts her head, curious, and takes in his stance: nervous, determined, protective. Her smile fades. "You're worried about CJ, aren't you?" 

He ducks his head momentarily, and when his eyes come back up, he says, "Who would I worry about if not my staff?" 

"Yourself?" she jokes. 

"I've got Margaret for that," he flippantly says. 

She smiles at him again. "I'll tell her you said so." It seems to put fear in him, and she giggles. "Maybe not?" 

"She'd make my life a living hell if you told her that," he murmurs. He's smirking, giving her a little half-smile, and he looks like he's just had the best fright of his life. 

"It's a character trait common to all assistants," she says, mockingly pretentious. "By the way, you're not like, letting the country go to hell by standing here talking to me, are you?" 

He smirks and says, "Don't know. Would you really mind if I was?" 

"As long as I get paid on time, you think I care?" 

He laughs, and it's somewhat rough, loud, and shorter than she would have expected. "In that case, I think we might've just sold Iowa to the Canadians." 

She stares at him glibly. "I never did like Iowa." 

"Neither did I." He sobers up smoothly, and says, "Anyway. I just came by to make sure you were okay." 

"I am," she says. He nods and is about to leave, when a thought hits her suddenly: "You know, Josh never asked if I was okay." 

He pauses and looks at her, curious. "He knows about you and Cliff breaking up?" 

Her spirits fade, and she looks at him almost apologetically. "I haven't told him yet. He'd just tell me Cliff was one in a long line of local gomers \- his words, not mine - that I always date." 

He leans against a filing cabinet, casually puts his hands in his pockets. "Do you really think Cliff was a gomer?" 

She has that same apologetic look on her face when she says, "I don't know." 

"Neither do I," he says, "but I do know that what Josh thinks of him doesn't matter. You dumped him, right? It wasn't the other way around." 

"Yeah." 

"Then you know, gomer or not, you can tell when something's just not gonna work," he says. His voice is plain, casual, like his stance. "So who cares what anyone else says?" 

It takes her a moment to work up the courage to say her next words, because he's still looking at her, not condescending as most men she knows would and have in situations like this, not pitying, not anything. He's looking at her like she's an equal, or at least a friend. "You see?" she finally says. "If I could find someone like you, I'd be set." 

A smile flickers on his face and in his eyes. "You don't want someone like me." 

"No, seriously," she says, almost grinning now. "Smart, nice, richer than God. A girl could get used to that." 

He puts a hand over his heart and takes on a look of mock-distress. "Smart, nice, rich, but not handsome? I'm hurt." 

"How could I forget," she says with a laugh. "Smart, nice, rich, and handsome." 

"Why thank you," he says, bowing his head. "How nice of you to observe that." 

She pretends to be indignant, and asks, "What, I don't get any complements in return?" 

"And that is exactly why you don't want a guy like me." He glances around before saying, "I should go. Make sure we haven't really sold Iowa or anything." 

"You do that," she says; he leaves, and she watches him walk away with a smile on her face. 

[We Killed Yamamoto] 

"This is what I'm saying," Margaret says as they sit in the mess together. It's late, and they're indulging in a little midnight snacking. "This is exactly what I'm saying." 

"Margaret, he sent me to Bismarck, not Maui," she says. Her ice cream is liquefying in the bowl. "It's still cold there." 

"Still," Margaret says. Her ice cream, somehow, is remaining solid. "If Leo took me or sent me to half the places Josh takes and sends you, I'd, you know, I'd never complain. Ever." 

"Oh, come on. What about when he yells?" 

"I-" 

On cue, a yell of, "Margaret!" is heard coming down the stairs. They look up, and see Leo stalking towards them. "I need you upstairs," he snaps at Margaret. 

Margaret grabs her bowl and nods. "Gimme a sec to get this stuff together." 

He sees Donna, then, and says to Margaret, "Just finish up quickly. Where's the NSC file they couriered over today?" 

"Second pile on the left, in the middle." 

He's about to leave, when he turns back and asks, rather snappishly, "My left or yours?" 

"Mine," Margaret says, and as he goes up the stairs, she leans over the table to whisper, "He yells so often I've gotten used to it. Now, if he doesn't yell at me, I tend to think something's wrong." 

"Donna!" 

"Here comes your Leo-in-training," Margaret mutters. She grabs her unfinished ice cream. "Gotta go." 

Josh is ambling towards her, and then plunks down in Margaret's recently vacated seat. He takes a bite of her ice cream. "How was Bismarck?" 

"Cold," Donna says. "And, I must say, a little flat." 

"I need you to come upstairs and help me with a few things." He takes some more of her ice cream. "Hey, how're things with Cliff?" 

"Hello, Mister Random," she mutters, bringing her bowl back to her side of the table. "I thought you needed me to help you out with something upstairs." 

"Yeah, but I want some gossip," he says. "Besides, I've heard some things." 

She gets up and tosses the remnants of the ice-cream into the trash. He's about to be an asshole, he's about to be a major prick, and she has no choice but to play along. "What, pray tell, have you heard, Josh?" 

"I heard he dumped you." He's not quite smiling at her, but there seems to be a smug satisfaction that he's once again predicted a negative outcome for one of her relationships. 

She is walking to the stairs when he says that. She turns to him, quietly defiant, and says, "I dumped him." 

She leaves him behind without a second glance. 

[-----] 

She is under a hazy night sky, stretching her legs because it is late and she doesn't like spending too much time at her desk without a small break. Josh's "thing" that he needed help on wasn't really all that important. He'd wanted to rub her face in the dirt a little, but it had backfired, and left him stumbling over awkward apologies to her. 

She is stretching her legs, and decides that home might be the best place to go right now. 

The walk back to her desk is quiet, like a funeral procession. Josh is still in his office, looking harried, when she says, "I'll see you in the morning." 

He's distracted by something other than the papers in his hand. "Yeah." 

She turns around to head home, when she sees Leo coming down the hallway in a state similar to hers: a briefcase hanging from one hand, eyes bleary, ready for whatever few hours of sleep he could cull from the night. She falls in step beside him, since they're going to the same place. 

"Hell of a night for me to give my driver some time off," he mutters, throwing her a tired glance. 

She is tired, so she forgets who she's with. "Same here," she mocks. "And my masseuse, and my maid, and - oh! Wait. I couldn't have given them time off, since I could never afford them in the first place." 

He stops, glares at her. "Feeling a little uppity tonight, are we?" 

She's still tired, but now she remembers to whom she's speaking, and she's vaguely apologetic. "Just a little." 

He shakes his head at her, and keeps walking. "Lemme give you a ride home." 

She blinks a little, surprised seemingly at the sight of his back as he walks forward. "Huh?" 

He turns around, says, "You walk home, right, or take a cab? It's late. Lemme give you a ride home." 

"O-okay." She shoulders her purse and takes a few long strides to catch up with his shuffle. "Do you even know where I live?" 

"No," he says; she can tell he's rolling his eyes by his tone of voice. "But I'm sure you do." 

"Point." She takes it in stride. His car is newish, with soft seats and clean floors. He holds the door open for her without any thought, and tosses his briefcase in the backseat as he gets in on his side. It's a dark colored sedan, the type that's almost standard issue for anyone working in DC, and she fingers the gray leather that covers the armrest on the passenger-side door as he starts the engine. 

She tells him where she lives, and to fill the silence, she adds, "I told Josh that I broke up with Cliff today." She wonders if Leo really cares. 

But he says, "How'd he take it?" So she knows he at least pretends to care. 

"Like how I thought he would," she says with a hint of frustration. "But I think he's sorry for it." 

"He probably is," he says; he keeps his eyes on the road the entire time he's talking to her. "For as long as I've known him, he's been putting his foot in his mouth, taking it out only long enough to apologize." 

"For as long as you've known him?" 

"I might have baby pictures," he quips, and she laughs at the image of some baby Josh chewing on his toes, unaware that he'd be doing that for a good chunk of his adult life. 

In a minute, they're at the front door of her apartment, and she thanks him for driving her home. She's out of his car, on the sidewalk, pulling her keys out of her purse, and his car door is still open. 

He's got his hands resting on the steering wheel as he says, hesitantly, "For what it's worth, there are good guys out there who'd bend over backwards for someone like you." 

She looks at him in the dim interior light of his car, and he looks like he's afraid he's committed some crime against her. She leans inside the car door and asks, "Would you?" 

He half smiles, half glares, and she thinks it's a sad smile, and she thinks it's a wistful glare. It might be her imagination, and he says, "You wouldn't want me to." 

She returns his smile with one that says she doesn't quite believe that, and shakes her head. "Why not?" She can tell he wasn't expecting the question, and he cocks his head to one side in thought. 

"For one, I'm your boss," he says. 

"Josh is my boss," she counters. "And if we're going with the job thing, he's dating a lobbyist." 

"Don't remind me," Leo mutters. "Well, also, I'm still your boss." 

"Is that really your only reason?" 

"You really don't want anyone anything like me," he says, a little uncomfortably. He might be a little exasperated at her questioning, so she takes a step back and adjusts her purse some more. She wonders if he might be a little scared. 

"I'll see you in the morning," she says, closing his door. He waits there, parallel parked until she gets inside the front door. 

She can't help but peek out the window beside the door to watch him leave. 

[Posse Comitatus] 

It's nearly four in the morning, and she's half asleep on the couch in Toby's office. Toby won't mind until he comes in wanting to sleep there himself. 

She had been called back in by Josh, who thought they all should be there when the rest of the staff returns. He thought they should be there for when CJ returns, because Simon Donovan was killed tonight. 

She wakes up to the sound of Toby bouncing a ball on the window above her. "Had a nice nap there, Sleeping Beauty?" he quips laconically. 

"Quite," she mumbles, rubbing her eyes and standing up. "I suppose you want the couch now." 

"I do, thank you," he says, flopping down on the couch without so much as undoing his tie. "Thanks for keeping it warm for me." 

"Such a gentleman," she mutters. "CJ in her office?" 

"I wouldn't talk to her just yet," Toby says, leaning up on his forearms and craning his neck to look at her. His face, normally sullen, is even more so now, and his eyes are quiet and dark. "She's, you know. Let her be for a bit." 

"Okay," she says, nodding. She leaves, heading for her desk, or maybe another couch. 

"It's just-" Toby has gotten up, and is standing in the doorway of his office now. His tuxedo is wrinkled, but she thinks it might have been like that all evening, and his face is more dog-weary than usual. His body is mostly still, except he's nervously tapping his fingers of his right hand on the doorframe. "She needs to be... alone, for, for a little while. She needs to get out of her head first." 

"Okay," she says again. "I'm gonna find another couch." 

"You should," he says before returning to his own couch. 

She turns, and runs right into Sam. There's a stoniness in him, a coldness that seems to have seeped into his face and body that hadn't been there a year ago. Gone is the righteous idealism that she once saw in him, replaced by a burning, roiling subterranean anger that she can see in his eyes, or in the set of his mouth and shoulders. 

"Sorry," she says. 

"It's okay," he says, smiling. It looks real enough, but it still unsettles her a bit. "Lemme guess. Toby's already got the couch." 

"Yeah, but I'm sure he'd let you cuddle up with him," she jokes, trying to lighten mostly her own mood. 

"Mm, no, I kinda like having all my limbs intact," he says with that same unsettling smile. 

"I'm gonna go look for another couch," she says, easing past him. 

"Good luck," he says, and she's already out of his line of sight. 

She wanders the halls a bit; it's all fairly deserted, since it's only a little past four in the morning, but there are a few lights on here and there. There don't seem to be any couches in the West Wing, so she goes downstairs, hoping beyond hope that there are still some in the basement from last spring, when the staff was down there planning on how and when to tell the world about the President's MS. 

She finds herself flattening against the closest wall as the President's entourage breezes by. She'd seen it many times before, but it never ceases to amaze; it's fairly large, even though they're indoors, with a few agents and a few advisors and a few of the advisors' advisors. She sees the President for a short second, and he looks as if he's sold his soul to the devil. She sees Leo in the forefront, right next to and a half-step behind the President, and she sees him speak a few words before breaking away from the gaggle. 

He's seen her, and walks towards her with confusion on his face. He, like every other man who'd been at the play with the President, is still in his tuxedo. "What're you still doing here?" he asks; there's just confusion in his voice, and maybe a little weariness and concern. 

"Looking for a nice couch to lie down on, mostly," she quips. Quickly serious, she says, "Josh called me in after he heard about Simon Donovan." 

Leo shakes his head. "You should go home." 

She smiles, touches his arm. "I've gotta be here in a couple hours anyway, but thanks." 

He kind of shrugs, kind of ducks his head. "Still. Josh probably won't need you for a while anyway." 

She frowns and says, "I wouldn't want him blaming you for me not being there bright and early." 

"And what, exactly, would he do to me if he knew I was the one who'd sent you home?" he says, smirking. 

Still, there's something in Leo's eyes that make him seem even more tired than even Toby looked. She knows he knew Simon Donovan, but this is more than that. She knew Simon, too, and he was a good man, and while she's saddened by his death, she's sure that she looks nothing like Leo. If the President looked like he'd sold his soul, Leo looks like he's the one who brokered the deal. Her frown deepens, and she asks, "Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine," he says, but it's too quick to be true, and too happy. 

"You're not," she says with a shake of her head. She snaps out of whatever she's in quickly, though, and says, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry or anything." 

"No, it's okay." He shrugs again. "You care. Nothing to be sorry about." 

"Yeah, but you just, what, came out of the Situation Room." She smiles, apologetic. "I shouldn't - I mean, I don't-" 

"It's really okay," he says with a tiny laugh. It's a hollow sound, echoing off the walls of this basement corridor, but it's a laugh. "I'm not gonna bite your head off over it or anything." 

She doesn't know what to say in response, so she says, "Amy Gardner's resigning on Monday." 

His face hardens almost imperceptibly. "Because of the welfare bill?" She nods, and he says, "It's her own fault. She shouldn't have come after us." 

"I thought it was her job to come after us," Donna says. "I mean, isn't she supposed to be looking out for women's rights?" 

"Yeah, but-" He sighs, and when he says his next words, she can tell there's something more to it, something beneath it all. "Sometimes you gotta compromise, do things you don't want to. There aren't moral absolutes when it comes to a lot of things. Sometimes, you gotta smudge a little for the greater good." 

"Yeah," she says, quietly. He's not looking at her, or anything much for that matter, with his head turned and his eyes searching the floor as if it holds the answers to all his questions. "I understand." 

He looks at her as if just realizing that she's standing there. "You wouldn't if you knew," he says with a voice just as quiet as hers. 

"Did you do anything that wasn't justified?" she asks, touching his arm again. The material is soft beneath her fingers, and warm from his body and the May night. "Did you do anything that wasn't completely well-intentioned?" 

"No," he says. He glances away, and adds, "It wasn't good, but no." 

She squeezes his elbow supportively. "Then I understand." 

He looks at her with bloodshot, tired eyes, and even more confusion on his face. "You've got a way with people, you know that?" 

She tries to disarm the comment with a smile and a soft chuckle. "Then why can't I get a man?" 

"'Cause maybe none of 'em are good enough," he says. 

She blinks; a shiver goes up her spine, and the smile on her face fades into a slack-jawed stare. He is looking at her eyes, and she wonders if he thinks he's overstepped some line somewhere. He looks scared. She thinks she might look the same way. 

He steps back, and her hand slides off his arm. "I'm sorry-" 

"Don't be," she says. She kisses him, or he kisses her, she's not sure, but at any rate they kiss, and though it's soft and chaste in touch, it feels more intimate than anything she's ever done. In the back of her mind, she thinks they're doing this only because they're tired, but she knows that's not really true, and she knows neither of them really care anyway. Her hands reach for his arms again, and in the dark of the ill-lit hallway, she feels his hand on her waist, so she pulls away from his lips. "Okay?" 

"Okay," he murmurs hoarsely. He's still looking at her as if he's crossed the line, so she kisses him again to let him know he hasn't. Somehow, she knows him, and can feel the nervous intensity of his belief that things will be okay in the way he draws his tongue lightly across her bottom lip. She almost hears his thoughts, almost hears the naive, optimistic single-mindedness he has about certain people. She almost hears his hope, in that taste he's given her, and that hope is something she hasn't heard in a long time from anyone in this city. 

She feels him break away from her. "No," he whispers. There is a deep, sharp inhalation of breath, and he's stepping back into the shadows, his hazel eyes watery in the matte darkness. "I'm sorry." 

"Why?" His shuffle stops then, at her words; she reaches for his hand. She can feel his pulse as her fingers absently twine with his, and she knows he'd rather be kissing her again instead of backing away. The way his eyes trace her body, and the way his thumb rubs hers tell her so. 

"There's - I'm your boss," he says haltingly, as if it's hard to breathe. "It's not proper." 

Her voice is soft, and she looks at him with that same softness. "So, in another time and place-" 

"You're stunning," he says. His voice is quiet, rough, and fades in places. "You're kind. You're strong. And, in another time and place, I'd want to be with you, or at least try." 

"But?" 

"I wouldn't want to hurt you." 

She reaches with her free hand to touch his face; he flinches at her first touch, swallows hard, but keeps his eyes on her as she brushes her fingers along his cheek. She's prepared to jump headfirst into this now; though he may end up being one more in a long line of failed relationships, she's willing to take the chance. She hopes she's reading him right, because it looks like he almost feels the same. Her thumb feathers across his lips, and she says, "I'm not that fragile." 

He steps towards her, and her hand slips into his hair as he leans forward to kiss her. It's a slow, but unhesitant motion, and she lets it deepen until she needs air. She feels his hands on her waist, uncertain, so she moves her hands inside his jacket to allay him. When they do break apart, his mouth is still searching for hers, and his thumbs are stroking the jut of her hipbones through her skirt. 

His voice sounds low and hopeful to her when he asks, quietly, "So you wanna get some breakfast or something?" 

She smiles at the way he's looking at her, and at the way he's touching her. She can tell he's still a little unsure, but she knows her confidence is growing into him with every look or touch or sound she gives. It's been awhile since she's seen that kind of hope for the future around here. Her hands move from his stomach to the small of his back and she says, "I know an all-night diner not too far from here. We could go there if you'd like." 

He leans in to kiss her again, and murmurs, "I'd like," against her lips. 

She kisses him back, and pulls him up the stairs and into the light. 

-end- 


End file.
